Chronicles of A Templar
by MP Cole
Summary: After the Templars are betrayed, Parsifal must learn to survive with or without help. I hate what happened to him and truly saw character development from him. What if he had survived? Note: I do not own any characters in HISTORY'S "Knightfall" This story is set following events after S1 E7 "And Certainly Not the Cripple". Rest of the story is my creation. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

"Traitor" my mind repeats.

I felt thrown to the wolves as Christ before the initiate bastard stabbed me. Before the devil struck! Before the Templars were now the heathens. Before my Marie was taken from me. Back when days always were filled with harvesting crops or riding horses. Or perhaps, if we were fortunate, city festivals, or watching the knights on parade.

I laid back on the courtyard ground barely breathing while listening to the horrible sounds of the noble men I came to admire cut down. They all stand for God's cause. Above other men, true heroes. Still difficult, they love nobody. The cost of leaving the past in the grave. Some you can never let go.

The screams and shouts have not broken my _sleeping death_ look. Shocking how easy it is to turn a situation as savage as this to a chance.

I kept still, breathing slowly as havoc played, dark, horrific fear I have only now come to know. For now, I am fighting death, listening close, the blood flows from my stomach and my body winces painfully with every move. I can feel the breeze of death over my skin. My right hand shielding the wound, I was not taught as a prince, but a peasant knows much. I will myself to be still. I must be quiet. Be still or die in an instant.

Even so, would death be freedom? The glory of Heaven what all wish to reach. All are destined for Heaven or hell. I wince with my raw throat and slowly blink through tear-stained eyes.

I look back. From my life before this cut to the Church's heart- the massacre to tis end. Now… wounded in this foul bloody courtyard, there's only one thing to think on. Think and act now and flee. And fight to survive. For from injustice will come justice. It must come!


	2. Chapter 2

I moved slowly and silently through the litter of bodies on the ground. Eyes darting around, searching for any material I can use. I knew if I did not escape the Palace Temple, Death's sword would be even closer to my throat. I ripped part of a linen cloak from one dead body and quickly grabbed a wine skin from another. Smelling the shitty drink inside, I could tell it was burgundy.

"Damn it!" I cursed under my breath.

I sighed and wet the rag with the reddish drink, then slid it through the cut in my black robe into the wound itself.

Taking cover behind the stable I tied another roll of cloth over my chest to hold the rag in place.

"Oh God" I mumbled, breathing a bit more heavily.

"WHAT WAS THAT?" An unknown voice called.

"Not sure, could have been a crow, good feast we prepared for 'em" a second one replied. The second man's voice laughed as I tried to stay calm. I kept my eyes and ears open. Marie and I always made a game of hide & seek when we were young. God willing, it will save me now!

I started to check the courtyard once their footsteps carried off and away. I must escape now, the other Templars had to know. Until now we were fighting an enemy of the cross, yet…. I never thought the real enemies were close as kin.

"Be with me, Marie" I whispered as I snatched up a stray sword and small Healer's Kit before mounting a black stallion.

"THERE'S ONE OF THEM!" the first unknown voice yelled aloud. I gasped at it. I was always quick to act when danger was close. Even though I am a peasant. My muscles ached yet I kicked my heels and the horse charged forth at full gallop. It was the villain who nearly killed me! I bitterly glared back at the gate behind me, while I was far from safe. Landry and I had become close friends since I lost Marie and my innocence. I idolized him as Temple Master, and still do. I could not let him, and the true warriors of Christ be cut down, not even by our own king. I rode on until Paris was in the dust. I was still wounded, I needed to rest. I worked to put fresh dressing in my wound, taking a swig of burgundy to quench my first.

As soon as I got within sight of a castle: Comman-Derie De Chartres. Landry had told me of this place I remembered. A nun, or what it looked to be one, locked eyes with me, and advanced toward me slowly and armed, noticing my wound. I fell from my horse to the ground moaning, her form rushing to my side. I breathed deep and moaned a plea of help before she calmed me. I steadied myself and I laid in this woman's arms, her eyes looking into mine. She reminded me so much of someone.

"Brother de Molay bring help!" she shouted as I drifted out of consciousness. I willed my eyes to stay open while wetting my dry lips.

"I-I need help…" my voice hoarse. The woman brought out a skin of water to my mouth. I swallowed a bit, closed my mouth to the neck, and saw aides arriving. She smiled reassuringly.

"Calm, rest until you are strong enough to move" she said, whispering something to the snow-white bearded Templar who appeared at her side. I cast my gaze out to her and she just followed from a distance as the aides carried me on a stretcher inside the castle walls.

_Do you have a use for me still Lord?_ I thought aloud, my body laid on a fresh bed. My saviors just starred and whispered low. I began to feel the physician's hand stich my wound and a familiar name:

**Landry. Is he Landry's ward? **

I opened one eye at the mention of his name. I saw the woman and the Templar knight leave the infirmary and drank a tonic from a goblet pressed to my lips. I reached toward the wound, yet my hand was slapped away while I lay on a knife's edge and waited for sleep- or death- to take me.

_Give me strength Lord…. Why, has the world put us to the torch?_

I woke up in a confused haze to see that my wound (a deep near fatal one that nearly killed me) was sealed, but the pain remained. I ate some soup and bread served to me. There were a dozen questions I wanted to ask the physician until the woman's calm brave form surprised me. I smiled and nodded to her.

"God has truly delivered you" she said bearing a bowl of water and a rag.

I smiled and replied sheepishly "Yes, yet for what?"

I looked outside the window of my room to see that a Templar unit had assembled and used my eyes to spot anyone familiar. I hoped to see any survivor from the Temple massacre. Not one face I knew was among them. Clearly there was a plot of vile traitors conspiring against us. I listened even more and learned that these corrupt traitors served King Phillip and did so with the Pope's blessing! I stared at the scene, crushed, and looked to my anonymous savior. When she asked why I was stabbed, I just cast my face away and back- asking to see Landry.

"You know him…?"

"He is my son" the woman answered with a hint of pride and a grin.

"Your son? My God- "

I brought my hands up to my head in disbelief before crossing myself. I dipped the cloth she brought into the bowl and washed my face and arms with it. She brought a bony yet firm hand to my curly hair. I almost felt, even thought of her as a mother in the moment. I knew there were many questions we each had for the other but may never find time to ask them. She drew her hand away from my head.

When Landry's mother had finished tending to me, she leaned closer to my side than I expected.

"I will send him word you are alive…" she said, "Rest now." She may be motherly yet nonetheless stern.

"Thank you" I answered simply. "I pray it's not too late."

"God willing. Rest, son" she urged me as she took the bowl with her. Landry's mother left the infirmary as swiftly and silently as she came. I exhaled. She saved my life and I still knew little about her. There was so much I wanted to know. The proof was still fresh on my body. Hard to believe men of the cross can have poison hearts.

After a short moment of rest and considering what to do, I drove myself to rise. I walked out of the infirmary and checked to see if the halls were clear. After seeing that they were bare, I slid out and walked down the right hall. The cool fall air kissed my skin and the snow-white bearded Templar I saw the previous night, appeared before me.

"My Lord!" I said in a startled voice, tongue-tied at his very presence. I bent a knee slowly and cast my blue eyes toward the floor as he approached. He probably received this honor many times.

After a moment of light introductions, I stood up and presented the secret note from IV to Jacques De Molay. He examined it closely and listened intently to my story. I held my breath and looked at Molay, trying to anticipate his reaction. When he cast a solemn dour face at me, I knew it meant war was on all our heads. I followed the Grand Master to his private quarters. Apparently, he was going to press more truths from me or so it seemed to be. They would be ready, and they will not be merciful. They will carry the king's furry against us- set to burn us into ashes.

I sunk low into a chair across Molay's desk. I could not bring myself to drink some wine he graciously offered, though. As I tried to build up the bravery to botch the subject, my brave mentor, Landry, entered. His stunned face mirrored my own.

"I thought you were dead young brother! Is it true what you have said? This…... betrayal….is despicable! It stretches farther. We must be ready. We can build our arms here but must do so for a moment's attack."

Clasping my shoulder Landry encouraged me, "Steel yourself, my mother, Master De Molay and I will reach out to all remaining allies. Only trust those among us here" he stressed through clenched fingers on my skin and strained tone. Those dark brown eyes of his searing hope and fear into my heart. He was angry, scared and still faithful as all of us.

"Are we really at the wolf's mercy?" I asked, eyebrows raised and palms sweaty.

"Yes" Landry replied, face darkened with a portent of terror yet to come. "Praise God you survived this brush with death- ready yourself now."

I exhaled. They knew the threat would scratch us all out. Whatever comes, I was going to fight for my God and the new _family_ fate had brought me to. I walked up the stairs to my infirmary room to prepare my bags. The venture ahead none of us might survive. From the monks of the castle I was given new clothes, my Healer's Kit thankfully was untouched, food, money, a full water skin, and a new black robe. All I need. My kit and food fit in one bag and clothes in the other. I added the small cross which Marie gave to me at age twelve. There were also the gold rings of my parents- or so my old village priest told me. I smiled at the thought of Marie's warm smile and frowned at the memory, of her death. She was the purest soul to have ever lived. Also added a prayer book and a writing pouch filled with quill pens, a inkhorn, knife and some parchment. Since entering the order, the chance to learn to read and write sparked a fire in me that grew stronger. Lastly, I packed a wooden flute, always had a skill with it.

I brought my bags with me and set them upon my stallion I rode in my escape from the Palace Temple. My wound still hurt. Yet this is a path I could not turn my back on.


End file.
